Two men were sitting in the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest as I entered it; and one of them, I gathered from his low, excited voice and wide gestures, was telling the other a story. I could hear not...

The conversation in the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest had drifted round to the subject of the Arts: and somebody asked if that film-serial, The Vicissitudes of Vera, which they were showing down at...

The village Choral Society had been giving a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Sorcerer in aid of the Church Organ Fund; and, as we sat in the window of the Anglers’ Rest, smoking our pipes, the a...

Another Sunday was drawing to a close, and Mr. Mulliner had come into the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest wearing on his head, in place of the seedy old wideawake which usually adorned it, a glisteni...

The man in the corner took a sip of stout-and-mild, and proceeded to point the moral of the story which he had just told us. “Yes, gentlemen,” he said, “Shakespeare was right. There’s a divinity that ...

Miss Postlethwaite, our able and vigilant barmaid, had whispered to us that the gentleman sitting over there in the corner was an American gentleman. “Comes from America,” added Miss Postlethwaite, ma...

It was with something of the relief of fogbound city-dwellers who at last behold the sun that we perceived, on entering the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest, that Mr. Mulliner was seated once more in ...

Somebody had left a copy of an illustrated weekly paper in the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest; and, glancing through it, I came upon the ninth full-page photograph of a celebrated musical-comedy act...

“Do you believe in ghosts?” asked Mr. Mulliner abruptly. I weighed the question thoughtfully. I was a little surprised, for nothing in our previous conversation had suggested the topic. “Well,” I repl...